Last Day of Skiing

Alright, we pile into the car at 6 o'clock in the morning, there are 4 of us, the ideal number as all the chairs have a capacity of 4 people.

We are all very eager to hit the road, and we do so as soon as I load my skis and gear in the back of the car.

We begin the 2.5 hour journey to Big Sky Montana.

Before we know it, we are at Wheat Montana, a breadshop about an hour away from Big Sky. Across the street there is Teasers, the hot spot for truckers all across Mid-Western Montana.

They see us, we can clearly see they have been infected by zombies and are turning into them. We bust out our skis, which double as transformers.

Mine turns into a lightsaber.

Dan's into a penis.

Drew's into a gat.

Brent's into a whip.

We charge across the highway, making cars fling out of the way in our rage. Those bastardly commies are the ones responsible, we all know it.

We begin to slice through the zombies left and right and upwards and downwards, until we get to their leader. We execute him, but only after making him dress up as a baby-doll.

We go into Wheat Montana, order turnovers and juice. Brent gets gravy and biscuits, because he is a softie.

We load back into the car and begin the next hour drive filled with orgasms as we near Lone Peak until we can touch it. When we get there we see that its an ideal day to ski, warm but not to warm and Big Sky had just gotten a fresh snow.

We get everything on in the parking lot and not wanting to wait for the transport, we begin to walk to the hill. But little did we know that there were elite snipers also sent by the commies training their scopes upon us. We, having our uncanny smell for danger, turn on our infrared scanners, as seen in Predator Series, stolen by that damn beast...

We spot them and cook them from the inside out, like a microwave. They explode, leaving a fine bloody mist in the air, marking forever cursed ground.

We procede to the ticket counter, and wave our hands in front of the cashier uttering, and waving our hand in front of his eyes, "We do not need to pay for our tickets." to the cashier.

He agrees and we get on the lift to hit up the mini park, which is definately where it is at. And begin to slay a kinked box and a jumpline. After we all had our corked 14 down, we proceded to eat lunch.

We expected poison in our food, so we had a fat kid by the name of Evan eat them first. He died a slow and painful death, and we felt no remorse, but at least we didn't die, EH.

We head back out, and hit southern comfort switch. We're going so fast the snow burns down the mountain.